LIVING IN THE EDGE: IN THE VALLEY OF FEAR

My innocent little friend asked me why most of the insurgent groups in the north-east describe themselves as revolutionary or liberation army. It stupefied me; it’s just too complicated and confusing to even describe. For me, they are revolutionary or liberating only in their efforts of letting animals hold guns to kill humans.

‘97 and the following chaos had taught me not to be too outspoken about any issues related to such groups, but my inability to forget their misconducts, apart from stealing away my childhood, hardly changed my views towards them. Apart from that their very presences bring fears and chaos in the society, and demands (though shaken) some reproach.

I first heard of the ZRA, KNF, KNA, etc. when troubles brewed in ’97, and as a Zomi, I have to thank the ZRA for saving my butt, and well, my head. I would earnestly bow my head in respect for what they did during that time, but I resented, as a Zomi, the ZRA of post-2000. The simple reason is, they look like the underworld (mafia) –working only for the vested-interests and pockets of their supreme bosses. The same apply to all of the outfits in Manipur.

The very foundation of their organization, I suppose, is to provide securities and fight for the causes of the communities, but most of the time, they are the source of communal discords, many other excesses and the trouble maker. Ask anyone in the streets, I’m pretty sure they will express the same sentiments.

Ignoring the brutalities and human right violations, the total ineffectiveness of the ‘never-the-first-choice’ Indian security forces gives us no choice but to embrace the ‘Z’, the ‘K’ or the ‘Etc.’ as our respective guardian. So there is no point in raising the questions of our security under them or their worth as our guardian, but I want to ask if they have any respect for us or are we their mere subjects liable to their wishes.

It is pretty high time that we, the common folks as well as the outfits, evaluate our situation and position within our respective communities. Do we, the common people, still need them or do they have served their purposes? Is their vision realistic, what steps they had taken in that direction and do we support that vision? While on the other hand, the outfits need to honestly assess, above everything, their standing and worth in their respective communities’ lives.

As a common folks, for me the main question is –can we do without them? Ask me if I am afraid of them; yes I am. I fear them as much as I feared a mad cow. Do I hate their presence; of course I do, they are loaded guns. But do I wish them away; only if all of them can be wished away in one go. If not, past experiences will force me not to, for those outfits are the one that can keep the other outfits at bay, and I still want my chance to fight for another tomorrow.

I’m not a critic of them, but rather, considering the role they played in our community, I want them to reform and organize in a better way, and keep their goal in their mind. I don’t want to be identified by the violence that they practice, like the Muslims are identified with fundamentalism and jihadi.

If those outfits are serious about the cause they are fighting for, let them fight like a gentleman, holding their heads high, with pride and dignity –not like the gangsters, who stole in the middle of the night or the mobsters who get their way by threatening and frightening everyone.

With all those outfits around, life for the common man is like living in the edge. You can’t expect everybody to know how to balance and counter-balance issues; which are a necessity for our daily survival as you are not given many priorities. It is like juggling 3 knives –pay too much attention to one and the other will hit you in the head, pay too much attention to the going-on around you and you will go crazy, but if you don’t pay attention, it may cost you your life.

There is no middle path here, silence may help but it is not always the answer. But then, talking doesn’t help much either, especially in this part of the world where everyone with a little authority, starting from the Chief Minister, are as deaf as a statue. Apart from that, be it talking or writing, they expect you not to cross a certain limit, or your warning may come in the form of death.

I don’t find any appropriate word to describe the situation we live in. Express your feeling and you’re forced to remain silent, remain silent and nobody will care about you. Cry for help, but there’s no one to hear you, definitely not the government, neither will the outfits. Apparently the government and the outfits don’t give a damn about you. Apparently the government and the outfits don’t know that forced silence is a horrifying torment, and an unattended cry for help is the superlative of all brutality.

The unresponsive government and the reckless militants pushed us all to the edge; suppressed anger, desperation and helplessness forced us to be more aggressive, more brutal or to totally give-up on everything. Our daily life is a struggle for survival, being cheated of even the most basic of facilities supposed to be provided free of cost by the government, the common folks are left at the mercy of our merciless shylocks to be fleeced to their bones.

But we are survivors, we have survived thus far, and our survivor instincts are strong. I only hope those militants apprehend and appreciate our daily struggle. God helps us all…

Long Live The Zomi! Happy Zo Minam Day!

Tags: mizo, zomi, zogam

In the Footstep of an Angel

My little job requires me to move and work all around the country and there are many instances when I found myself in some extremely isolated places deep in the mainland of the country. And I must tell you there are quite a number of times when I found myself being the exotic one. People would come to see me or stare at me forgetting whatever they are doing, and as if they expect you to know their language, they would talk to you and laughed heartily at whatever you said.

I remember working for a little over two week in a small town in the tribal dominated state of Malkangiri in the south of Orissa. My job doesn’t require me to go out much but my boss and other consultants from our firm have to go all over the sub-division for meeting with all sorts of people to discuss their problems, what can be done, their conditions and standards of life, and they asked me to come along and help them since I hardly have anything to do at that time.

I don’t have to attend any meeting and thought of spending the days inside my room in the state guest house. But after the first two meeting on the first day itself, my boss have to send for me since the villagers enquire too often about me. After that I was part of every meeting though I hardly have any role in those meetings nor do I have anything to spoke about, but as soon as the meeting is over, everybody would come first to me to shake hand, and if there is anything to be eaten, it was started with me.

When we work in the makeshift office, I, and my laptop are the most exciting thing to watch, all the staffs in the guest house would stand behind me to watch me working with my colourful daily schedules in excel sheet. When I went out to buy some fruits, if they do charge me, they ensure that I get more than I paid for. On the roadside, they would ask me to taste some fruits or food, and even if I grimace, rather then being offended, they laughed heartily.

At first, I was embarrassed at the treatment I get, I know pretty well that I am a nonentity, I have no rank and I am no consultant. This is in total contrast to the treatment I got in Delhi which was etched in my mind like a scar. Then I started getting curious and suspicious else they are expecting something from me.

The consultants were also curious but they said it was just because of the difference in my face, but that don’t satisfy me so I started enquiring by myself. One day I happened to meet a man who spoke a little English and it was from him that I learned of the Doctor.

It seems nearly a decade before I was here, a ‘foreign man’ (a Filipinos missionary named Dr. Santiago, I later learned) served here. He was basically a doctor, and died before he can fulfil his mission. But within the two years he spent here building up his base, he had done a lot of development work like a water harvesting reservoir for their farm, digging fish ponds and many well for the villages around here apart from working as a doctor without charging anything.

It frighten me to think that I was compared with someone of that stature, though in some way it saved me from the name-calling that I was very familiar with wherever I go. I thought the best way to deal with the situation was to continue being myself and do nothing to strenghten or weaken the illusion they had of that great man. Fortunately the Team Leader sensing my discomfort asked me to leave for the base office.

I thought of looking up for some information on the net about that good Doctor, but there was none and I never got the chance to go back to the place. This is my tribute to that Good Doctor, I only wish I have known his full name or at least some more information about him. May God increases his tribes! ©lyan

(An extract from my diary dated February, 2007)